


The Crystal Star Serials -- May Be Changed as This is just a filler title

by Eladrin_Akihabara



Series: Crystal Star Serials [1]
Category: Alternate Universe - Fandom, Once Upon a Time (TV), Original Work, Secret Magic - Fandom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 14:37:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5209586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eladrin_Akihabara/pseuds/Eladrin_Akihabara





	The Crystal Star Serials -- May Be Changed as This is just a filler title

**Storybrooke, Maine. Before Founding,1979.**

The city that didn't exist, which doesn't mean it lacked a name. There was, as with many things, a beginning and a middle to Storybrooke. The end as one might typically expect, can get a little murky. The tall man in the dark grey suit standing in the empty road in what could be The Library of Storybrooke pulls out a unremarkable silver pocket-watch to consult, with strange little dials and switches and at the very center of the small mechanical clock in his hand instead of a face with numbers. There was only a small glass bubble of sand swirling around much like a great ocean's whirlpool, an inexorable current of loose gritty earth, dry and without any hint of moisture. Yet it swirled like an ocean, entrapping the eye with a mesmerizing whorling.

The tall man, a man without much need for words, for words were a human's business. He needed them, They needed them and so he had bent his shape and form to match theirs. The human race could not survive without the concept of language. It was an all-consuming power for them, some more than others. Some only knew that words of magic, and others held to the magic in nature in different ways. even the simplest words hold powerful magics. But magic had long ago withered away in this world, all but for a few hidden places, and secret worlds and a negligible, infinitesimally disproportionate not to mention well-hidden people.

The pocket-watch man sighed deeply as he beheld the swirling of history in the grains of sand. To save them, he must teach them. To teach them he must learn how to become like them. To speak in their human cadence, and to live a mortal life.  
"Well, The best way out is always through." The man remarked in a somber tone, to nobody in particular.

The middle of the end often brings back people and places, that we had often known and seen and like many other things in all the worlds this also applied to very simple things. But the beginning, I suppose, is where all true tales start and this one must start at the beginning in order to make it a genuine and classic tale.

"The middle of the end often brings back people and places, that we had often known and seen and like many other things in all the worlds this also applied to very simple things. But the beginning, I suppose always brings something old, yet somehow new. That is where all true tales start and this one must start at the beginning to make sense of a genuine and classic tale." The mystery man thought aloud. "This should be an interesting world to live in, soon enough." 

And isn't that my dear friends, what a story is all about? especially this story. Now shall we begin? 

**New York City, New York. February , 2010.**

Emma strode down a lonely broadway street, as always, a mildly stern expression on her face. A look that said she was concentrating. She'd just had yet another lovely Valentine's day, a trip to a broadway rendition of Wicked, with a handsome and charismatic young gentleman. By all accounts a skilled physician. A gentleman, as so often happened to her, was involved in a rather complicated scenario. Being that he he had a lovely young wife who was, in all likelihood, waiting at home for him.  
However, that was not the reason why Emma was walking this dark and brilliantly gleaming city street. She was on the prowl for her date. She'd been hired by a young woman's best friend, admittedly without the woman's knowledge. Miss Margie Reynolds, fallen prey to the small town sorrows of a teenage pregnancy, somehow surviving her choice to allow her youthful highschool first love to escape their small little town, had never mentioned her pregnancy to one Marcus Harding. 

So Marcus had grown up, gone to college, and began a small Pediatrics practice. Which was rife with irony, Emma thought with a small snarky smirk. Although admittedly, Marcus had no idea that Margie was pregnant when he'd gone to become something more, to follow his dreams. A sudden crash down an alley, a yowling cat drew her notice like a lightning her feet hit the concrete in a flurry of power, her heart thudded in her chest as she came upon a man in surprise. A tall gentleman in a dark grey suit, with a pocket watch in his coat pocket, a neatly folded handerkerchief resting in the breast pocket. Surprised to find such a well-dressed man, standing in the middle of a dark and very wet alley, as it began to lightly sprinkle. 

She looked closer examining the man's face, a calmly poised face disgruntled by a simple expression, as he consulted the pocket-watch, before uttering a simple phrase. "Not yet, time. It's not yet time, Emma." The storm chose this point to break, a thundering crash of lightning that opened the skies upon her, drenching her in moments right to the bone. The next lightning flash lit her surroundings. She was alone. The strange man, not quite impolite, but a man who cut such an odd figure was nowhere to be seen. Tired from her fruitless night, and feeling the cold damp seeping into her bones, Emma shivered and walked out of the alley to the off-broadway street where she had parked her little yellow bug, a small side-street easily within walking distance of the Friedman theatre. Once inside she cranked the heat, and turned on the radio atempting to distract herself from the cold. An unfortunate mistake, as at that moment an unfamiliar familiar song began to play.

_A day to remember._

_And hey darling,_  
_I hope you're good tonight._  
_And I know you don't feel right when I'm leaving._  
_Yeah, I want it but no, I don't need it._  
_Tell me something sweet to get me by,_  
_'Cause I can't come back home till they're singing_

Her throat catches, and a hard lump forms. Her mouth dry, her hair and skin damp Emma finds it a struggle to breath, and does not know why.  
She smacks the steering wheel and fumbles for the door latch. Falling sideways out the door, slamming it shut behind her, pressing her back against the slick wet yellow car door. Her throat sticky and dry,her heart beating right out of her chest, like Daffy Duck's in one of those old Looney Tunes cartoons. Shaking, she tried to calm herself yet the music seeped through the car door, the vibrations pressing into her skin from seemingly everywhere. She could only hear snatches of the song now, as it was playing on a repeating loop.

_La, la la la, la la la._

_If you can wait till I get home._

_You know you can't give me what I need._

_I swear I'll never be happy again._

_La, la la la, la la la._  
_Now everybody's singing._  
_La, la la la, la la la._


End file.
